William J. Barker

[The following poems were originally published in Barker's Sunamou (Rocca Sinibalda: Castle Contintental, 1963), with a forward by Caresse Crosby. An interview with Barker -- poet, novelist, actor, and raconteur -- is scheduled for the next issue of Talisman.]WILL WHAT

Still blue wheels climb the daysAlph changes sidesFinalities challenge tomorrow Are the stouter legs we meet Really more innocent?

IN MAY SUNKEN TREES ARE GREENER

I know what you wantedMoscow NightsNot so many factsBut the down horned moonHathorPlucking the stars of ScorpioIn the coolthBut attendants in potato sacksPulling back the gates of painAnd the bullfrog infernoJuggling virago kitchenAnd jeep tracked gazelle skinsSleeked by lushSans oublier the little Hetty pipeAnd the meteor tapes of kifThe night portending eyes of the vanished cityThe jewish jacket of be kind to children week

And I im mud heavy cactus boots of MexicoAnd I saying I can twist if I willI could I would I didn'tDo more than pace the walls of MarrakeshKnowing you well within the dance

Viewed from the bridge of standing byThe electric eel once moreCharges narcissistic batteriesA joke person dying in the Mamounia gardensWorries because the birds can't get at the water.

Love and not love played out on these pamphylian sandsIn sight but out of reach the sacred springThe bosky culmination of our pilgrimageIncongruous high noon to which we sacrifice facsimilesSkins flayed and then worn again as tunicsThat once were nerved and eager to the tips of touch

We laugh dolphin waves we force an early mediterranean We call back suns that only set for moons to inundate Sheets that were sailsNo whiter than our love no whiter than our not loveWafted aloft in a paeanToo difficult for ears of friends and enemiesUnbearable then to us

We traded tunics and our city fell like SidéAmong its mangled stones upon that day of mandragoreThat night Zeus and Poseidon spoke in thunderlightningPhosphorus on tree barkArchaic smiles and lonely fright

And in atonement have I raised this minaretBreathing our shape to clouds so other skies may seeLove and not love played out on these pamphylian sands